Pinching the Mums (Stillwater Diary)

Marigolds, Stone Ridge, NY, 6/17/17

My wonderful, clever mother, Doris, grew up in a small, three-story apartment building, owned by her parents, on New Main Street in south Yonkers. My grandfather’s tailor shop (a child’s wonderland) occupied the ground floor.

When my parents bought their starter (and only) house, on the suburban side of town, Mom proved to have green thumbs, and annuals, perennials, shrubs and trees soon colonized our small lot. My father, Hal, a Bronx boy, grew beefsteaks and cherry tomatoes.

Mom’s sister, Edie, and her family, bought a similar house in the development (created for the Greatest Generation, their wives and their baby Baby Boomers), a five-minute ride from us (no one considered walking). She was less of a horticulturist. With few options for flowers in that first fall, the sisters both bought mums. On the phone with Edie, Mom advised deadheading (which sounds like following Jerry Garcia & Co.), which she called  pinching, to encourage blooming until a hard frost.

Maybe, because as an aunt, Edie had so often taken a chubby bit of my (or Babette’s) cheeks lovingly between her thumb and index finger, she applied the same maneuver to the mums, leaving the expired flowers slightly dented, but in place. When Mom discovered the misunderstanding, a family joke (with endless teasing) took root.

This spring in Stone Ridge we planted lots of orange for the hummingbirds (who prefer the sugar water in the flying saucer-shaped feeder)–an extravagant double hanging begonia, a Cuphea “Vermillionaire” and marigolds. The latter require deadheading (and their pots, a bit of weeding to remove the perkiest of all volunteers, purple basil seedlings). I love the marigolds’ very specific fragrance, a smell of summer, movingly redolent (like tomato leaves) of my childhood backyard.

Marigolds, Stone Ridge, NY, 6/17/17

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Jonah Is 42

Alain Tanner, Geneva, 12/11/82

The great Swiss director Alain Tanner, who debuted his first feature in 1969 (“Charles, Dead or Alive”) at age 40, subsequently created a “radical body of work that bristles at the numbing neutrality and status quo monotony of his native country, a cinema full of rebels, outcasts, and dropouts, where the presiding mood is one of driftlessness and anxious ambivalence.”

“Alain Tanner,” an eight-film retrospective at Metrograph, includes “Jonah Who Will Be 25 in The Year 2000” (1976), one of Tanner’s masterpieces from that decade–“La Salamandre” (1971) will also screen–which was co-written with John Berger. A diverse group of eight Genevans, still clinging to the idealism of May 1968 in the mid-70s, get together on a rural retreat to imagine a world beyond shiny consumer culture. French film critic Serge Daney wrote it’s “a didactic film with no lesson to teach, an encyclopedic film with no conclusion.”

The hypnotic “In the White City” (1983) stars the incomparable Bruno Ganz as Paul, a Swiss sailor who jumps ship in Lisbon and rents a room, with no plans to resume his real life, or to do much of anything. He starts a romance with Rosa, a young chambermaid (Teresa Madruga, very affecting) and sends Super-8mm “letters” home to his baffled wife.

The five other films included in the retrospective, which opens today and runs through Sunday, July 23, are “Middle of the World,” “A Flame in My Heart,” “Charles, Dead or Alive,” “Light Years Away” and “Messidor.” All of the films will be shown in 35mm.

“The Big Chill,” directed by Lawrence Kasdan, opened the 21st New York Film Festival in 1983. I remember, maybe incorrectly, that the party was on the stage of the New York State Theater (since re-named for a conservative monster). The event was packed. Someone introduced me to one of the stars of the film, Jeff Goldblum. He’s James Comey-tall and I came up to his waistband. Making polite conversation, he asked what I thought of the film. I was very young, still considering my opinions of interest to everyone, and replied with now cringe-worthy authority, “Well, the good film in the genre is “The Return of the Secaucus Seven.” And probably screaming in the very noisy space, I continued, “And the great film in the genre is “Jonah Who Will Be 25 in the Year 2000.” He seemed to agree and because the party was so crowded, in several seconds, simply by standing still, I was no longer near him.

The next morning I woke up, deeply embarrassed, without even vodka to blame for my brazenness. Deciding I needed a gray cardigan sweater, I walked to agnès b. in Soho. The women’s and men’s clothes were then in the same store. Finding the women’s stuff too floraled and/or fluffy, I climbed the spiral staircase to look as the men’s selection (French men aren’t big), and as I reached the top, heard my name called out enthusiastically. Jeff Goldblum was sitting (with Tom Berenger) on the small sofa. Laughing, he shut down my apologies (but we did reminisce about “meeting cute” when in later years,  I photographed him twice, once individually and once with the rest of the cast of “The Life Aquatic”). The saleswomen who had found me invisible now swarmed about with offers of assistance. I took home a gray cotton cardigan sweater.

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“It’s Only Art” (But I Like It)

John Perreault, “It’s Only Art” (detail), at Marquee Projects, Bellport, NY, 6/23/17

To call writer/art critic/poet/artist/curator/pottery expert (and collector)/gardener John Perreault (1937-2015) a Renaissance man is to dramatically understate the case.

“It’s Only Art,” a tribute survey of his paintings and sculpture (with video documentation of a few of his performances), is inaugurating a new gallery, Marquee Projects in Bellport, NY, where Perrault long shared a house with his husband editor/writer/critic Jeff Weinstein. The show, expertly installed by co-curators Mark Van Wagner and Beverly Allan, all but overflows the elegant space and features work made from 1970 to 2015, some of which is being exhibited for the first time.

Many of Perreault’s abstract paintings use nontraditional materials such as “toothpaste, oil-polluted sand and coffee (which the Village Voice praised as ‘exquisite sepia revelations’).” His sculpture wittily employs found objects and movingly uses rocks. “Mended Stones” was recently exhibited at The Noguchi Museum in Long Island City and “was singled out by critic Deborah Solomon as an ‘affecting installation’ about repairing a broken world.” The piece displays “a spirit of hopeful transformation that pervades Perreault’s lifelong work.”

Born in Manhattan, Perreault who “first showed his paintings at Greenwich Village’s One Eleven Gallery in the mid-1960s, has had his work exhibited nationally and internationally. He simultaneously broke ground in the fields of conceptual and performance art.” According to the New York Times, Perreault was “a pivotal figure in organizing the first Day Without Art in 1989 to draw attention to the impact of AIDS on the arts.”

“It’s Only Art” is on view through Sunday, July 16 at Marquee Projects, 14 Bellport Lane,  631-803-2511.

John Perreault, “It’s Only Art” (detail), at Marquee Projects, Bellport, NY, 6/23/17

John Perreault, “It’s Only Art” (detail), at Marquee Projects, Bellport, NY, 6/23/17

John Perreault, “It’s Only Art” (detail) at Marquee Projects, Bellport, NY, 6/23/17

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Star-Spangled Crème Pâtissière Redux

“every heart beats true for the red, white and blue…”

Last year, Mark made the confection, adapting a “scintillating strawberry” recipe by Jacques Torres, to celebrate Julie and her newly acquired American citizenship. This year it’s to celebrate our country–its goodness and resilience.

“All men are created equal,” originally referred to white men of property, but I’ve always chosen to take the words literally (well, with a bit of stretching to make the “men” part fit all genders). And I know that I’m surrounded by multitudes of Americans who make the same choice.

Happy 4th.

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(Not Your Average) Two for the Road

Kirsten Tan, NYC, 6/27/17

Thana (Thaneth Warakulnukroh), a successful but dispirited middle-aged Bangkok architect, grown distant from Bo (Penpak Sirikul), his glamorous wife, and tired of working for a young slickster with dubious taste, is in need of redemption, or at least a major break from his routine. Writer/director Kirsten Tan’s funny and melancholy debut feature, “Pop Aye,” pairs Thana with Popeye (Bong), an elephant working as a street performer, and sends them on an unexpected road trip (which repeatedly zigs when it seems it will zag) from the capital to the architect’s childhood home in the countryside.

Recognizing Popeye as the elephant rescued decades earlier by his Uncle Peak (Narong Pongpab) after hunters shot the animal’s mother, and raised in their village, Thana is distressed by his old companion’s rough condition. He buys him from his handler and soon begins walking home, to return Popeye to Uncle Peak and Loei, the idyllic village stored in his memory.

Both Tan and her duo take their time on the road to Loei. Thana, with his rounded glasses, grey hair and goatee and lovely, lumbering Popeye, receive the kindness of strangers, and are on the giving end as well. None of fascinating characters encountered play as a device or is reduced to the sum of quirks.

But you can’t go home again and Thana recognizes that there was real value in the journey, if not in the disappointing destination. He returns to Bangkok, and with Bo, surreptitiously visits Gardenia Square, an early project, an upscale mall, now shuttered and slated for demo. She tells Thana that she was at the mall when the earthquake hit but unlike the other patrons, felt no need to flee (he comments on the appropriateness for Bo of “death by shopping”), as she adds that she felt safe at Gardenia because he had built it.

“Pop Aye” will open on Wednesday, June 28 at Film Forum for a two-week run. There will be a Q&A with Kirsten Tan at the 7:00 pm show on both opening day and Friday, June 30.

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I Laughed! I Cried! (I Just–Uncharacteristically–Used Exclamation Points)

Michael Showalter

“The Big Sick,” is a giant-hearted, irresistibly funny romcom with serious things on its mind–romantic love, love of family and corresponding responsibility, ethnicity, immigrant culture coexisting uneasily with the American mainstream, illness, and the need to do fulfilling work, even if success is not guaranteed. Michael Showalter directed the film from an autobiographical script by real-life couple Emily V. Gordon and Kumail Nanjiani (who also stars, with Zoe Kazan, two perfect performances).

They meet cute (of course), when Emily, a psych grad student, heckles Pakistani-born Kumail during his sly standup set at a small Chicago club. They go home together, no expectations, and as their one-night stand expands into many nights, they try to deny the rightness of their less-than-likely relationship, self-preservation in brave new dating world, and a tacit understanding of their different backgrounds.

Low-key, good-natured Kumail has dinner on Sundays with his close-knit, traditional Muslim family, lying about LSATs and meeting a parade of lovely, brainy Pakistani bachlorettes, each of whom “was just in the neighborhood.”

When Emily finds a boxful of photos of the potential brides, she realizes why Kumail won’t introduce her to his parents, and refused to meet hers when they were visiting. Squeezed by an impossible choice, he says, “I can’t lose my family…can you imagine a world where we’re together?” She replies, “I don’t know.” They split up.

An unexpected medical crisis brings them back together. A grad school friend of Emily’s, needing a break from the hospital to take finals, informs Kumail that Emily has been hospitalized with a diagnosis-resistant illness and has been put into a medically induced coma. He awkwardly begins to visit her daily and slowly wins over her parents, Beth and Terry (Holly Hunter and Ray Romano, two more perfect performances), who have frantically arrived from North Carolina, and are aware that Kumail had dumped Emily.

As the doctors begin to stabilize and cure Emily, Kumail, Beth and Terry form a familial bond. Kumail acknowledges his love for Emily and that he wants to marry her. Terry, originally a New Yorker, whose southern in-laws had rejected him, explains how Beth’s family grew to accept their marriage: “Lots of fucked up dinners.”

Waking up, healthy but weak, Emily is unaware of Kumail’s vigil (with stuffed giraffe), love and plans for the future. Saying, “You made me sad in my heart,” she asks him to leave her room and send in Beth. A second reconciliation attempt, with props, at a party to welcome Emily back to her life, also fails. Kumail, heart-broken, and estranged from his family (he had told them about Emily), moves to New York to pursue his comedy career.

But don’t worry about your investment in Kumail and Emily’s happiness. Suffice it to say, “The Big Sick” ends full-circle cute and I guarantee you’ll cry.

“The Big Sick” opens today at AMC Lincoln Square 13 and UA Union Square 14, and in Los Angeles, with a national rollout to follow.

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107.333331 (In Dog Years)

Leo, Stone Ridge, NY, 6/17/17

Leo was 15 1/3 today. We didn’t celebrate with marrow bones and raw beef, foods that wonderful Dr. Kristie Williams at the Animal Medical Center (who discovered that Leo’s frightening sickness was being cause by the NSAID prescribed for his arthritis) labels as “dietary indiscretions” for an older Lab.

But Leo, wearing his red life preserver, retrieved a tennis ball thrown repeatedly into the Esopus, soaked in the Groverkill and walked in the woods through the suddenly tall ferns. A good day, like many past Saturdays.

Happy birthday, Schmoo, and many more.

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